


can we pretend (that we're in love)

by softheathen



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, joshler - Freeform, my mind is kinda messy rn, uhm I'm sorry for the shitty one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:59:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softheathen/pseuds/softheathen





	can we pretend (that we're in love)

Thick arms wrapped around slender waists, slender waists melting into tougher bodies. The thrum of heightened bass coruscating through thigh high tube socks into worn down souls. There was nothing more important, more brilliant; than the red haired, hooded eyed boy. 

Tyler's panting echoed off the walls of a run down apartment, the walls too thin for comfort; but the feeling just the same. Gaunt fingers wrapped around hardened forearms, whispers and broken promises pressed into open wounds. His breath was a cure to a disease yet to be named, and Joshua drank it like fine wine. 

Sweaty foreheads pressed to bleeding shoulders, whispered names cracking into floating tunes. Scratched backs bleeding onto pristinely white sheets. This was not what he had planned. 

Smoke filled lungs exhaling into bedrooms stained with scents of sex and cinnamon, a lit flame passed between two men. Too afraid to speak the words their souls were truly thinking. Fluffy hair rested against clammy shoulders. Thighs pressed against waists, hands pressed against chests. Tapping out the flame. 

Lead filled lips leaving heavy indents on skin where light once touched, silence filled with aching bones and sore muscles. The safety built between these walls crumbling down at the feet of the two who held it the closest. Some buildings were meant to be demolished. 

"Sometimes you had to promise yourself not to let somebody complete you. Most of the time, you fall captive to your own words. Sometimes, you break your own heart." 

Meeting places in broken alleyways, full of drug residue and dirt that clung heavy and thick to the bottom of soleless shoes. Arms lifting fragile bones to safety, reeling it's string around brains and easing the ache. Breaking through the mold. 

Lines written on fragile pages. Holes scraped through thin paper where fingernails fought. Romantic poetry falling into categories of hate, messages of destruction, distaste. 

Her lips were red like bleeding lines indented on fragile skin. Her smile was the equivalent of street-lamps shining down on a rainy night. Red cheeks splattered like paint on a discarded canvas. Memories loop through empty brains. Tears down cheeks, searing through sore skin and broken bones. 

Wouldn't it be nice to pretend for one more night?


End file.
